


a lover above, a beating heart below

by kitseybarbours



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Dermatillomania, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Penis In Vagina Sex, Praise Kink, Restrictive Eating Mention, Saying I Love You, Soft Dom Martin Blackwood, Submissive Jonathan Sims, Switch Tim Stoker, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitseybarbours/pseuds/kitseybarbours
Summary: What,pray tell, are the odds that one tiny, anxious sub, one less tiny, down-for-anything switch, and one gentle, big-hearted, absolutelyruthlessdom would all end up working in the same place, at the same time, and all be not only single but alsoveryhot? Tim still can’t quite believe their luck, but he’s not about to question the will of the universe.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 36
Kudos: 424





	a lover above, a beating heart below

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Chevy Thunder](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XW_HMJLKHso) by Spector.

* * *

‘Come _on,_ Martin,’ Tim groans. _‘Look at him._ He needs it!’

‘He can wait,’ says Martin serenely, and presses the vibrator a little farther inside of Jon.

Jon—blindfolded, his hands bound at the wrists—cries out. He sits against the headboard of Martin’s bed, stark naked, his legs spread wide and trembling; his cunt is dripping wet, stuffed full of a purple silicone vibrator buzzing at top speed. Tim ate him out earlier, at Martin’s direction, but he wasn’t allowed to make him come. Beneath the blindfold there are dried tear-tracks on his cheeks.

‘Please,’ Tim tries again. ‘Please, Martin, he’s been so good, you know how badly he wants to look but he _isn’t._ Just let me touch him, let me make him come, yeah? Better yet, let me fuck him— _look at him,_ I don’t know how you can— _Ow!’_

Martin slaps Tim across one cheek, lightly, but firmly enough to shut him up and remind him who’s in charge here. His other hand works deeper between Tim’s legs, grazing his prostate and making Tim hiss a curse, his eyelids fluttering shut. He is on all fours, naked too, his cock painfully hard and—typical for when Martin is running a scene—as yet untouched.

‘Did he hurt you, Tim?’ Jon asks, his voice breathy, tentative.

‘I’m fine,’ Tim answers, shooting Martin a look as he rubs the warm spot on his cheek. This earns him another jolt of sensation to his prostate, and he gives a yelp.

‘Shame,’ Jon murmurs, sounding almost like he’s in a trance. ‘I like—I like what you sound like when he hurts you.’

Tim groans, a fresh shudder of desire tearing through him and making his cock throb. ‘You can’t just _say_ things like _that_ when you’re looking like _that,_ boss! He’s never gonna let me fuck you now.’

‘Don’t be silly, Tim,’ Martin chides him. ‘Of course I’ll let you fuck him.’

_‘Really?’_

‘I promise. Just as soon as I’ve finished with him.’

Jon moans at this, a prolonged shudder wracking his skinny frame: ‘Oh, _God.’_

Martin removes his fingers from Tim’s arse and crawls round to kiss him sweetly on the mouth. ‘Now remember, Tim, you aren’t to touch yourself, no matter how pretty a show he puts on for us. Understood?’

‘Been holding off for hours, don’t see why you’d change the rules now,’ Tim mutters.

‘What was that, love?’

‘Yes, Martin. Understood.’

‘Good boy.’

Now Martin turns his attention to Jon, kneeling between his spread legs and stroking a tender hand over his face and neck. Jon leans into his touch like a cat. ‘Martin,’ he whispers. ‘Martin, touch me, please.’

‘What do you want, sweetheart?’ Martin murmurs. The honeyed tone of his voice goes straight to Tim’s cock. He shifts as surreptitiously as he can, going down onto his forearms to rub his cock against the sheets, but Martin glances over his shoulder and says offhand, ‘No, Tim.’

Tim seethes inwardly, straightening his burning arms and wishing their dom weren’t so bloody good at his job.

As far as he’s concerned, it’s still nothing short of a miracle that they ended up in this situation in the first place. _What,_ pray tell, are the odds that one tiny, anxious sub, one less tiny, down-for-anything switch, and one gentle, big-hearted, absolutely _ruthless_ dom would all end up working in the same place, at the same time, and all be not only single but also _very_ hot? Tim still can’t quite believe their luck, but he’s not about to question the will of the universe.

In any case, they’ve seized their opportunity for the rare gift it is. After a few months of dancing around each other—awkward Archive-kitchen maybe-flirtation, copious mugs of tea left on desktop corners, the occasional instance of sexually charged eye contact across a stack of file folders—Tim’s extraordinarily horny energy (his Venus is in Scorpio, he doesn’t know what else to say), Jon’s inhuman and frankly bewildering stress levels, and Martin’s surprising aptitude for giving orders in a kindly but demanding (and sexy) fashion finally collided a little over six weeks ago and brought them together into this…relationship? Fuckbuddy arrangement?

Whatever it is, it’s working for all of them. Tim gets to blow off some steam with his hottest male coworkers, Jon gets to be taken out of his head and stop _worrying_ for a little while, and Martin…Well, Martin gets to boss them around _and_ fuck them to pieces. It’s _great._

‘Eat me out,’ Jon begs Martin, twisting his head towards the sound of his voice. ‘It felt so good when Tim did, I got so—so _close,_ but I didn’t—I couldn’t—’

‘I wouldn’t _let_ you come, Jon,’ Martin corrects him gently. ‘We’d only just gotten started. It’s such a lot of work to get you into this lovely state, and I have no intention of ending things too soon.’ He appraises Jon’s naked, trembling frame, lingering on the place between his legs where the vibrator still pulses away, by now covered in lube and Jon’s own slick. His labia are dark and engorged, his clit standing out swollen. Martin flicks it with one cavalier finger, making Jon gasp and clench down around the toy.

‘Shall I leave that in while I go down on you?’ Martin muses. He doesn’t wait for an answer from Jon, instead bending his head and licking a luxuriant stripe from Jon’s slit up to his clit. Jon gives a high cry that turns into an open-mouthed moan as Martin begins to pleasure him in earnest, sucking his clit, taking his labia between his lips and teeth, circling his tongue around the head of the vibrator and his sensitive slit.

Watching them, Tim groans low in his throat, remembering the taste of Jon, his hot slickness on his tongue.

Jon doesn’t like to have sex _often,_ especially not by Tim’s standards. Early in their…situation there had been a number of discussions laying out everyone’s boundaries: what words, positions, props were good and bad and I-don’t-know-let’s-give-it-a-go. While both Tim and Martin have got a fair few notches on their bedposts and a good idea of what they’re into, Jon has, by his own admission, never given much thought to sex. It was only after he began his medical transition that (he’d joked somewhat ruefully) his asexual brain had suddenly begun living in a _very_ sexual body. Jon being Jon, though, he’d never done much about it, preferring to repress like a champion (Tim’s words) and take care of himself when he needed to.

But then he fell into their laps sometime in October, and, well—Jon may not feel like doing it _often,_ but when he does, Tim and Martin make sure it’s worth his time.

The T shots help them out in this regard. Since starting them, Jon has discovered that he is incredibly sensitive; he’s iffy on having his chest touched, but on good days his nipples are practically magic buttons. The slightest graze of Martin’s teeth or a swipe of Tim’s well-practiced tongue can have him shaking and moaning and begging for more. And, he swears, he’s never been happier to have a vulva than he’s been since starting hormones: his clit is bigger and much more responsive, and he can get deliciously wet from even a few choice dirty words, a condition in which Tim and Martin have rarely wasted an opportunity to revel.

All this to say that Jon is a delight to fuck, and he delights in _being_ fucked, and all this adds up to the _delightful_ viewing experience which Tim is currently enjoying. He rocks back and forth on hands and knees, feeling vaguely like he’s being tortured by a cat-cow-happy yoga instructor, and considers reaching for his cock while Martin is otherwise occupied.

But he’s tried to slip one past him more than once—okay, it’s happened every time they’ve done this—and Martin _always knows._ He’ll always punish Tim for it, too, making him wait even longer to come, always with a benign smile on his face and an innocent look in his eyes. And, yes, okay, maybe Tim does it on purpose, because that kind of punishment is a _lot_ more fun than most.

But tonight he’s going to be good. He’s promised to be good, because Martin has promised to let him fuck Jon, and he _knows_ he’ll do something stupid if he just has to watch that happening instead of taking part himself.

Martin is pleasuring Jon with his usual expertise, his tongue making slick, wet sounds on Jon’s cunt. Tim’s noticed that Martin always seems to have something in his mouth, while he pores over files and spreadsheets at work—a chewed-up Biro, his right thumbnail; Tim has even seen him stick the end of a knitting needle between his lips while he peered at a pattern between rows. He’s no psychologist, but if an oral fixation goes anywhere in explaining why Martin is so damned good with his mouth, he’ll diagnose it himself.

 _‘Ah,’_ Jon gasps, writhing under Martin’s attentions, _‘there,_ that’s too much, that—’

‘Enough of the vibe, love?’ Martin asks, lifting his head. Jon gives a frantic nod. ‘All right, then,’ Martin soothes, reaching down to take it out. He kisses Jon full on the mouth, allowing him the barest moment to chase his own wetness from Martin’s lips before he pulls away, leaving him bereft again. ‘How would you like my cock inside you instead, hm?’

 _‘Yes,’_ Jon says, at the same time as Tim complains, ‘No fair!’

‘Don’t fuss, Tim,’ Martin reprimands him. ‘I did make you a promise. Jon,’ he says, cupping Jon’s chin lovingly in one hand, ‘how would you like to take both of us at once?’

 _‘Fuck,’_ says Tim aloud, nearly collapsing back onto his stomach. He gives an impatient whine, hungry for even the brush of the bedsheets against his desperately swollen cock. ‘Say yes, Jon, please say yes, I need to get this inside you, my _God.’_

‘Front and back?’ Jon asks. Tim can tell by his voice that he’s wide-eyed behind the blindfold, blinking those huge lovely brown eyes with their ridiculous lashes.

‘I thought so, yes,’ Martin says cheerfully. ‘If you’re all right with that.’

‘I— _yes,’_ Jon says, swallowing. ‘Yes, I— _yes._ Please fuck me. Both of you. _Please.’_

‘I thought Tim’d go in back and I’d go in front, because I’m bigger,’ Martin continues, calm as ever. ‘Really fill you up and fuck you hard. Would you like that, Jon? Tim?’

 _‘Yes,’_ they say in unison, Jon’s voice high and breathless, Tim’s nearly a growl.

‘Good,’ says Martin with a smile. He tosses Tim a bottle of lube, which Tim catches one-handed. ‘I’m going to get undressed. You two get ready.’

‘Yes, sir,’ says Tim, only halfway joking. He crawls up the bed, exhaling as the blood rushes back into his arms, and joins Jon at the headboard. ‘Come here, you.’

Jon turns to him, unseeing but trusting, and Tim can’t resist kissing his lips. Carefully he takes Jon into his lap. He hardly weighs anything: they’re always on him to eat more, surely you can manage at least two meals a day, come on, Jon, and he swears he _does,_ but evidently none of it sticks around. Martin has floated the idea of sneaking protein powder into his tea; Tim still isn’t sure if he’s joking.

‘D’you need me to open you up or are you still okay from earlier?’ Tim asks Jon, now cradled snugly between his thighs.

Oh, yeah, there’d been an _earlier:_ near the beginning of the evening Martin had instructed Tim to finger Jon open from behind, and then put a plug inside him while Tim ate his cunt. This had, however, brought Jon _much_ too close to coming _much_ too soon—he needs both penetration and clitoral stimulation, and apparently which hole is being penetrated doesn’t make much of a difference—so the plug had been set aside.

But apparently it had still done its job. ‘I’m fine,’ Jon assures Tim, and when he tests it out with one lubed finger and then another, Tim finds that he is most definitely telling the truth.

‘Condom?’

‘Gimme a sec.’

Tim fumbles in the drawer for one and eases it over his cock, each ginger movement sending shockwaves of sensation through him. ‘Martin,’ he calls plaintively towards the en-suite, where Martin has gone to undress. ‘Hurry back, I’m dying out here.’

‘Patience is a virtue,’ comes Martin’s answer: Tim can hear him grinning.

‘Looks like it’s just you and me for a minute, then, boss,’ says Tim, stroking Jon’s slim brown thighs. They’re getting hairier all the time, something Jon proudly points out every time they do this. ‘D’you need anything before he gets back?’

‘Touch my hair?’ Jon asks. He’s always so shy about it, as though _this_ is the dirtiest thing he’s ever asked for or accepted from them; they both find it impossibly endearing. (Even more so when, once, Jon—smiling hesitantly, not looking them in the eyes—had told them, ‘Well, it’s just very _intimate,_ you know?’ Tim thinks he’d fallen a little in love with him right then, with both of them, in fact, and the feeling endures.)

‘Sure thing.’ Tim rests his head on Jon’s right shoulder and cards one hand through his long, thick, wavy black hair, already going a little grey around the temples. He scrapes his short nails across the nape of Jon’s neck, and Jon moans, his lips parting and his head tipping back.

‘That feels so nice,’ he sighs, already blissed-out. ‘Never gets old.’

‘You’re just like a cat, you are. Pet you and you’re practically purring.’

‘Anxiety off-switch,’ Jon mumbles, pressing closer into Tim’s arms. ‘Control-Alt-Delete. Mm.’

‘No thoughts, head empty,’ Tim says solemnly. ‘We’ve gotta do this more often, yeah? Get you to relax a bit. Release some of that tension.’ He trails his finger all the way down Jon’s spine as he speaks, making him shiver. ‘Cheaper than therapy, at any rate.’

‘Someone looks happy,’ comes Martin’s voice, and Tim looks up. Jon straightens where he had gone lax in Tim’s arms, an alertness returning to his body. Martin stands at the foot of the bed, smiling fondly at them for a minute, and Tim takes the opportunity to appreciate his naked form.

This is something special, a rare treat: Martin doesn’t always get undressed for scenes, by any stretch. And while the power dynamic of two naked subs and one clothed dom does _certain_ _things_ to Tim, he also loves it when the gloves, as it were, do come off.

Martin is fat, and all-over freckles, and absolutely delicious to look at—and, if they’re very lucky, to touch. He has gorgeous squashy stomach rolls, and plentiful thighs, and the sweetest soft tits that Tim has more than once begged on his knees to be permitted to fuck. His cock is squat and thick, nestled in ginger-blond curls and half-hard already. Tim feels a delicious thrill of anticipation, knowing that it—along with his own—will soon be inside of Jon.

He gives a low whistle: ‘God, you’re hot, Marto. Jon, I’m sorry to say—I know you like that blindfold, but you’re really missing out here.’

‘Oh, hush,’ says Martin, waving him off and coming to join them on the bed, but Tim can see his little, pleased, very un-dom-like smile.

As Tim watches Martin reaches down and takes his cock in hand. Tim hums low in his throat, narrating for Jon’s benefit: ‘Oh, he’s touching himself— _God,_ first time all night, isn’t it, and look how hard he is already. What a pretty, fat cock he’s got. We’re so lucky, aren’t we, boss?’

‘Mm,’ Jon agrees. ‘The luckiest. I knew I hired you two for a reason.’

‘Oh, please, we came with the place.’

Martin clears his throat delicately, a little smirk playing on his lips. ‘What are you waiting for, Tim? You’ve been begging to fuck him for ages.’

‘I was waiting for you to say the word, _sir._ I nearly came when I put the rubber on, so I figured I’d take a moment lest I do anything stupid.’ Tim gives an ostentatious cough. _‘May I_ fuck our gorgeous partner now, oh Martin-my-Martin?’

‘Not if you’re going to be cheeky about it,’ says Martin sweetly.

Jon squirms in his lap. ‘Don’t be mean, Martin, come _on.’_

‘Do you need him inside you now, love? Right now?’

_‘Yes.’_

‘Go on, then,’ Martin tells Tim.

‘What, so _he’s_ allowed to talk back but I’m not? I hate this fucking polycule,’ Tim says tenderly, and guides his cock inside of Jon.

He clasps Jon’s bony hips as Jon cries out and wriggles down on him, breathing deep and shaky as Tim seats himself fully. ‘That good, love?’ Tim murmurs in Jon’s ear.

‘Yes,’ says Jon, his voice already going loose and dreamy. ‘Feels so good.’

‘And we’re only halfway there, aren’t we? D’you want Martin too, or not yet?’

‘Are you the one making decisions now, Tim?’ Martin asks lightly. He reaches to give Tim a warning kiss, nipping sharply at his lower lip. ‘I want to watch the two of you first. I want you to make Jon beg for my cock. Can you do that, Tim?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Tim breathes.

‘Jon? Will you be good and beg for us?’

‘Yes, Martin, yes, yes, I’ll do anything.’

Jon’s hands are curling and uncurling in the bedsheets at his sides, a little tic he has when he’s getting to that pent-up, desperate state. His hands are a mess, truth be told, his cuticles a ragged, bloody shambles, the skin of his knuckles splitting open from dryness. He only makes it worse with picking. They’ve tried their best—leaving hospital-strength hand lotion, boxes of plasters, and tubes of Germolene on his desk along with his mugs of tea or statements to review—but he never seems to notice them, as though it’s never occurred to him that his hands _don’t_ have to be in such a state that Tim winces just to look at them.

But: when he’s here, in bed with them, he’s not anxious, and he doesn’t pick. They’ll all count that as a win. It’s with this in mind that Tim reaches for Jon’s closest hand and enfolds it in his own as he begins to rock his hips, feeling somehow that each of his actions—holding his hand, thrusting deeper inside him—is an act of protection, of care.

‘How’s that, sweetheart?’ Tim murmurs into Jon’s ear, fucking into the deep warm heat of him, relishing the tiny sounds that fall from his lips. ‘You feel so good for me.’

 _‘Mm_ —good, Tim, so good—want to be good for you,’ Jon answers, breathless. He turns his head blindly, searching: ‘Martin?’

‘I’m right here, love,’ Martin tells him. His attention is fully focused on Jon, his face alight with a steady concentration. ‘Do you want something?’

‘Kiss me,’ Jon begs. ‘Please.’

‘Since you’ve asked so nicely.’ Martin leans forward and kisses him full on the mouth, a deep, indulgent kiss that makes Jon moan. Tim cocks his hips and drives Jon closer to Martin, eliciting a high whine as the kiss deepens further still. When they break apart, Jon is panting, writhing around Tim’s cock.

‘Want you inside me,’ he says to Martin, a desperate edge to his voice. ‘Please, please, _now.’_

‘What do you think, Tim?’ Martin asks casually, as though they’ve got all the time in the world. ‘Does he deserve it?’

Tim slows the roll of his hips as he considers, relishing the needy little noise Jon makes. ‘I’m not sure.’ He reaches around and gives a teasing swipe to Jon’s cunt, licking the wetness off his fingers with the loudest, most obscene sounds he can manage. ‘Certainly _feels_ like it, but I don’t know if he’s proven it yet.’

‘Right, then,’ says Martin, stroking Jon’s cheek. ‘Tell us what you want, Jon, and maybe we’ll give it to you.’

Jon’s face goes ruddy, a deep blush spreading across his dark skin. He gives a few quick, aborted gasps, struggling to find words. He _hates_ asking for what he wants—dirty talk doesn’t come naturally to him, and Tim suspects there’s no shortage of embarrassment in voicing his desires at all. But they’re working on it, the three of them, and he’s getting better.

He soon demonstrates as much. Taking a deep breath, Jon says, ‘I want more. I want Martin’s cock inside my cunt, filling me up, making me wet. I want you both to fuck me until I scream. I want you to come inside me, I want you to—to take me, to make me yours.’ He exhales, shaking.

‘Very good,’ Martin murmurs, leaning in to brush another soft kiss across his lips. ‘Tim?’

‘Just a minute,’ says Tim gruffly. ‘Brain went offline when he said he wants us to come inside him. _Hoo.’_ He squeezes Jon’s hips, willing himself not to come yet. ‘Okay. I’m back now. Fuck him, Martin, _please.’_

For once, Martin doesn’t reprimand him for talking back. Tim can see by the intent, glowing look on his face—not to mention the state of his cock, by now fully flushed and swollen—that he’s just as eager to fuck Jon as Jon is to be fucked. Carefully, the two of them manoeuvre Jon’s slender, slack frame so he’s held firmly between them, Tim rising up on his knees and wrapping his arms around Jon’s ribcage so Jon can wrap his legs around Martin’s waist. ‘Ready?’ Martin asks, and Jon moans, _‘Yes.’_

Martin enters him from the front and Jon cries out, seizing tighter still around his waist, pulling them as close as he possibly can. Tim swears softly: he can _feel_ Martin’s cock, rubbing against his own through the thin skin of Jon’s perineum. ‘We’re inside you,’ he says, his voice low and husky in Jon’s ear. ‘You’re so full, Jon, can you feel it?’

Jon has gone wordless, a long moan dripping from his lips. Martin smiles and begins to rock his hips. He meets Tim’s eye and they begin to fuck him in tandem, Jon’s body jolting between them with each thrust. His head is thrown back, resting on Tim’s shoulder, and Tim can picture his face behind the blindfold so clearly, his brow creasing in pleasure instead of stress for once, his beautiful eyes squeezed tight shut. ‘Yes,’ Jon moans softly, barely able to speak, ‘yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me.’

‘Good boy,’ Martin whispers. ‘Our lovely, lovely boy.’

He leans forward to kiss Tim over Jon’s shoulder. Tim responds eagerly—Martin is the best kisser he’s ever met; his mouth is plush and responsive, and he has a way of taking charge that makes Tim weak at the knees. The kiss is wet and deep and messy, and Jon can hear every second of it; he starts to make a string of sounds almost like little sobs as they keep kissing, still fucking him.

‘More,’ he says, desperately, his voice thin. ‘Touch me, touch me, please, I need more.’

Martin breaks the kiss, businesslike once again. ‘Could you manage it yourself if I untied you, or would you like the vibe again?’

‘Vibe,’ Jon says. ‘Can’t—can’t.’

‘Sure doesn’t sound like it,’ Tim says with a chuckle. He kisses Jon’s neck as Martin rummages for the vibe, lost amidst the bedsheets. ‘Doing all right, though?’

 _‘Yes,’_ Jon says emphatically.

‘Here we are, love,’ Martin says. He turns the vibe back on—a lower setting than before, Tim can hear; for all that he’s ruthless, Martin is _very_ considerate—and then presses it to Jon’s cunt, holding it there himself and stroking Jon’s calf with the other hand. ‘All right?’

‘Ye-e-es,’ Jon moans. His body begins to shake as the vibrator works on his clit, the two of them still deep inside him.

The feeling of his muscles pulsing around Tim, around both of them, is making Tim dizzy, bringing him closer and closer to coming. Through half-lidded eyes he looks to Martin, whose own face is beautifully flushed: ‘Martin,’ he says, his voice low. ‘Can I—?’

‘Mm,’ says Martin, clearly losing himself in fucking Jon, his gaze fixed on the spot where their bodies meet. ‘If you need to.’

 _‘God.’_ Permission having been granted (albeit lackadaisically), Tim takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, steeling himself for the last few thrusts. ‘Are you ready, Jon? D’you want me to come inside you? D’you want me to fill you up like the gorgeous little slut you are?’

 _‘Tim,’_ Jon begs, and Tim takes that as a yes. He holds tight to Jon’s hips and fucks deep, deep into the core of him, giving a harsh shout as his orgasm finally takes him over and he spills himself into Jon. Jon cries out, his body arching, driving Martin deeper still inside him in the process. He is trembling all over: there’s no way he’ll last too much longer, and the sight is intoxicating. ‘Fuck,’ Tim says roughly as the aftershocks course through him, ‘fuck, Jon, _fuck,_ you feel so good, _God,_ I love coming inside you. _Fuck.’_

He pulls out gingerly, holding Jon close to him, keeping him supported. They shift position so that Tim can sit back again and hold Jon in his lap. At Martin’s nod, Tim tilts Jon’s hips up: he gives a sharp cry at the change of angle, Martin’s cock now hitting his G-spot, the vibrator still working his clit at a punishing pace. _‘Fuck,’_ says Jon, breathless, nearly weeping now, ‘I want to come, I want to come for you, let me come, please, _please—’_

‘Have you been good?’ Martin murmurs. ‘Have you been good enough to come for us? Are you ours, Jon, are you our good boy?’

 _‘Yes,’_ says Jon, and tears trail down his face beneath the blindfold, _‘yes,_ Martin, I’m yours, I’m yours, let me come, let me— _ah—!’_

‘There we are,’ says Martin softly, as Jon goes voiceless and his orgasm courses through him. Tim watches, enraptured, as his sweet fragile body is overtaken completely by the intensity of his pleasure. This, they both know, is the only time Jon can ever get completely out of his own head; this is what he needs, and this is what they strive to give him.

Tim strokes Jon’s ribs, his stomach, his thighs as Martin comes, too, closing his eyes and exhaling a low, soft moan, spilling himself inside of Jon. He, too, is gorgeous when he comes, his face relaxing into sweetness, his lovely mouth parting on a soft sigh.

Tim watches both of them and feels, again, a surge of love, of luckiness at having found them both and being allowed to see them, to cherish them like this. _I hope this lasts forever._

* * *

Once they’ve all come down, they get Jon cleaned up. He’s a gorgeous mess, and if Tim had his way he’d leave him like this until he was ready for another round: sweaty and dishevelled and taken apart, come still dripping from him—his own and theirs. But Martin is a stickler for aftercare, and once Jon is out of subspace he _hates_ to be messy, so clean him up they do. When Tim unties his wrists and removes his blindfold, Jon blinks up at him, dreamy-eyed:

‘Hi.’

Tim laughs. ‘Hi yourself. C’mere.’ He lays Jon down beside him and then stretches out alongside. He beckons to Martin, who is putting the flannels in his laundry hamper: ‘You, too.’

Martin comes without protest, snuggling in on the other side of Jon with a pleased little sigh. He slings one arm over Jon’s bony hip and reaches to take Tim’s hand. ‘So?’ Martin asks softly. ‘How are we?’

Jon and Tim give long, wordless hums in unison. Martin prods them, tsking: ‘Use your words, boys.’

 _‘Very_ good,’ Jon murmurs, stretching between them like a satisfied cat. ‘I…I…Yeah. That was…excellent.’

‘What you needed?’

‘What I needed.’

‘Good. Tim?’

‘Twelve out of ten, Marto my man,’ says Tim contentedly. ‘God, you two are good at this.’

‘Says you,’ Jon says, indignant. ‘It’s wildly unfair that your rampant sex appeal actually does translate into being extremely good at sex.’

Tim and Martin both burst into laughter at this, leaving Jon helpless between them, asking: ‘What? _What?_ It is!’

‘You’re too sweet,’ says Tim, planting a smacking kiss on Jon’s cheek. ‘What can I say? My Venus is—’

‘In Scorpio,’ say Jon and Martin in unison.

‘Yes, we know.’

‘That’s all you have to say for yourself. We get it.’

‘What, now I need new material, too?! _So_ demanding,’ Tim complains, rolling onto his back and crossing his arms petulantly over his chest. ‘Don’t know _how_ I managed to get tangled up with the Virgo to end all Virgos and the Taurus-est of Taurus moons, I mean _honestly_ —’

‘Do you have any idea what he’s on about?’ Martin asks Jon.

‘Not a clue.’

‘But we love him anyway, don’t we,’ Martin says comfortably, reaching over to tousle Tim’s hair.

‘Yes, we do,’ Jon agrees, turning his head and kissing Tim’s shoulder.

‘I love you guys, too,’ says Tim, the words coming easily. He turns back to face them, propping himself on an elbow. ‘Have we, uh—have we ever said—?’

‘Nope,’ says Martin. ‘Good time as any to start, though, isn’t it?’

‘God, I can’t wait to pull that at work,’ says Tim dreamily. ‘Monday afternoon. Heading out for the day. _Bye, boss! Bye, Marto! Love you!’_ He blows an extravagant kiss. ‘Sash would lose her _shit.’_

If this were any other time, he would’ve received an immediate and very anxious lecture from Jon about _boundaries_ and _workplace conduct_ and _taking inappropriate liberties._ But as it is, he’s still too blissed-out to do anything but give a put-upon groan and flash Tim a weary middle finger. ‘Don’t you dare.’

‘I would never. I love you too much.’ Tim winks. ‘Gosh, this is fun! I love you, Marto. I love you, boss. Let’s have lots of sex forever and ever, okay?’

‘I love you too, Tim, but we might have to wait til morning,’ says Martin, yawning widely. ‘You two wear me out. In a good way.’

‘The _best_ way,’ Tim reminds him. He snuggles closer to Jon, sandwiching him firmly between them; he’s never known anyone else who can fall asleep like this, but it puts Jon out like a light. ‘You comfy there, sweetheart?’

‘Mm,’ comes Jon’s voice from somewhere in Martin’s shoulder.

Martin takes off his glasses, careful not to disturb him. ‘Shall I put out the light, then?’

‘Yeah, go on.’ Tim feels like he _could_ have gone for round two straightaway, but he also knows that he’ll conk out as soon as he closes his eyes. Like Jon, he carries a lot of pent-up energy (although not quite so many _nerves),_ and sex is his favourite way to wring it out. He always sleeps well at Martin’s.

‘Right, then.’ Martin pulls the cord of the bedside lamp and the room is left dark, but for the faint glow of city lights through the window shade. He exhales as he curls back around Jon, still holding one of Tim’s hands. ‘Night, you two. Thanks for a lovely evening.’

‘Thank _you,’_ says Tim drowsily. ‘And you, too.’ He strokes Jon’s arm and elicits a sleepy murmur. _Just go to sleep,_ he thinks, _there’ll be time in the morning,_ but he can’t resist saying it one more time: ‘I love you. Both of you.’

‘Love you,’ says Martin, an exasperated little smile in his voice. Jon is on the verge of sleep, Tim can feel it in his body, but he musters a drowsy answer:

‘Love you, Tim. Love you, Martin. Night.’

Tim closes his eyes, and drifts off to sleep with a smile.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Rox](twitter.com/zawehzawah) and [Alex](twitter.com/jonfuckery) for their headcanons and beta reads! In case you're wondering, in my non-expert opinion Tim is a Leo sun, Leo rising, Gemini moon (and, obviously, Scorpio Venus); Martin is a Scorpio sun, Cancer rising, Taurus moon; and Jon is a Virgo sun, Scorpio rising, Capricorn moon. (These are all subject to change depending on my mood, but y'know.)
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](twitter.com/saintmontague)!


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